


Two Wrongs Can Make Us Feel Like We're Right

by LvL90BioticGod



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, There's goNNA BE SEX, and a whole lot of losers, and anarchy, not too sure what's gonna happen but its prob gonna end up feely, or hilarious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3469040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LvL90BioticGod/pseuds/LvL90BioticGod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern!AU~</p><p>Hawke leads a normal life, just your everyday apostate living as a part time criminal and full time loser, that is, until the passionate mage rights activist, Anders, forces his way into his life. Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Your Average Monday

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had this AU swimming around in my head for weeks now. Not sure what's gonna happen? Probably a lot of smut and crack, honestly, though there might be some feely bits. Anyways, here's the first chapter to this trash pile of a fic. Feedback is always welcome!

Hawke hated Monday mornings, or just mornings in general. Anything involving waking up and physically leaving his bed was considered awful and unfair. Being a productive member of society wasn’t at the top of the mage’s list, yet he was thrusted out into the world despite his lack of enthusiasm. Having friends in the justice system will do that to you.

The ringing of Hawke’s alarm was deafening, the sound of plastic rattling against the dresser a jackhammer against his skull. A low groan rose from the back of his throat, his arm flailing about in search of the snooze button while he kept his face buried in his pillow. “Shut _up_ ,” he grumbled, smacking the clock with the palm of his hand. Yet another fantastic start to another fantastic day.

Hawke rose groggily before stumbling into the bathroom, the mirror greeting him with his own stale expression. Sleep still clung to his eyes, hair disheveled beyond belief, the scruff of his beard matted and wild from lack of upkeep. His clothes matched his features, a dark undershirt marred with stains paired with boxers that fared little better. Ketchup? Blood? Who knew? Not Hawke. Amnesia was common after a night spent at the Hanged Man. The mage scoffed at his reflection, a faint grin teasing his lips as his fingers ran through his thick locks. Nothing could keep Hawke from thinking he was the most charming man to ever walk the streets of Kirkwall, not even the truth.

Hawke washed up quickly, making sure to give his hair and beard a good comb before returning to his room in search of pants. He picked up random articles that were strewn across the floor, bringing each to his nose to make sure they weren't too ripe. Eventually he settled with a pair of faded jeans and plaid button up, rolling the sleeves up to his forearms before making his way to the kitchen.

One cup of coffee and frozen breakfast burrito later, Hawke was out the door and twisting his key into the ignition of his rust-bucket of a car. The engine finally coughed and sputtered to life with the fifth flick of his wrist, triggering a low rumbling sigh of relief from the mage as he gripped the wheel and shifted gears. If he was late it wouldn't be the first due to his blighted car. The drive from the docks wasn't far, sure, but Kirkwall traffic had always been far from merciful.

Thoughts of the work ahead of him plagued Hawke’s mind as he drove, the promise of a day of heavy lifting and bird shit far from enticing. It was well known that a dock worker’s job was far from glamorous, as if the shit pay and lack of insurance didn’t say enough already. Luckily for Hawke it served only as a cover for his real occupation. Smuggling tended to be far easier when you had direct contact with said smuggled goods.

Hawke slowed to stop at a light, grumbling to himself. At least he’d have a night at the Hanged Man to look forward to. He stared listlessly at the light for what seemed like ages, the lazy blinking of his turn signal beginning to hum the mage into a drowsy spell. It wasn’t long until his body began to slump forward, chin resting on the wheel as his eyes drooped to a close. _Just for a few seconds,_ he told himself.

“Hold, apostate!”

A thundering voice permeated through the glass of Hawke’s window, sending a rush of adrenaline shooting up his spine. His back straightened as his head spun ready to be faced with the inevitable, only to be greeted with the face of someone who was anything _but_ a templar.

They were fair, thin, but most importantly, shirtless. Hawke stared wide eyed at the bright blue paint had been smeared across the man’s bare chest, the color resembling that of the glow of lyrium. The mage’s brow furrowed as he squinted at the poorly scrawled out letters. _Freedom isn't free, fuck the chantry_. It was a phrase that Hawke would have had a good laugh at had it not been splattered over a half naked man outside his car window.

The man was gesturing wildly towards the car door with sporadic shakes of his head, his high ponytail loosening as matted blonde hair fell to graze his shoulders. Clearly he wanted to get inside. From the looks of it his hands had been bound behind his back, leaving him unable to open the door to do just that. Hawke snorted, shaking his head side to side with equal fervor. _Fuck no_. The mage was all too ready to speed away from the spectacle when he suddenly realized why the man was in such a panic, the sound of heavy boots against pavement now audible through the glass.

“There, seize him!”

The previous shouting had been from a templar, or more specifically, a group of them. The unit was decked out in riot gear from head to toe, the insignia branded on their chests leaving Hawke with no doubts of who he was dealing with. They wielded everything from batons to tasers, arms flailing wildly with promises to bruise and burn whoever they managed to catch next. Hawke swallowed. _Shit._

The blonde’s head whipped back with terror at the sight, his eyes swimming with panicked thought. He then took a few steps back from the car and began to pound on it with the heel of his foot, all while shouting seemingly every known curse to man. “For the love of Andraste’s great flaming ass would you open the blighted door?!”

Hawke’s eyes shot open wide as the man began to beat the side of his car, thoughts buzzing wildly. It was clear that this guy wasn’t taking no for an answer. Hawke couldn't afford another run in with the templars, not after Carver had barely been able to save his ass the previous time. He didn’t know what ultimately made up his mind, whether it be the hysteric man’s screaming or the possibility of an excuse to skip out on work, but Hawke acted. The mage lunged across the passenger seat and flung open the door, the stranger wasting no time to dive head first into the car while screaming, “Drive! Drive! Drive!”

Hawke complied, head whipping back up towards the dashboard as he shifted gears and floored on the gas. The engine roared to life as they began to speed down the street, Hawke swiftly maneuvering around traffic as his knuckles whitened from his grip on the wheel. “Maker’s bloody fucking balls,” he exclaimed, eyes shifting briefly to fall on his passenger’s face before flicking back to the road. “Next time you’re hitching a ride you might want to, I don’t know, try _not_ having a bunch of templars on your ass?”

The stranger was still breathing heavily from adrenaline as he attempted to situate himself properly in the seat, his eyes meeting Hawke’s through the rear view mirror. “Yeah,” he breathed, head arching back in order to check if they were being followed. “I’ll try and keep that in mind.”

Hawke scoffed, continuing to focus on weaving in and out of traffic. This wouldn't be the first time he had to ditch the authorities and probably not his last. Yup, this was his life. Always full of adventure, car chases, and damsels in distress. It wasn’t long until the shrill sound of sirens began to fade in the distance, rewarding Hawke with a sense of relief.

The two drifted around the side streets until they were sure the coast was clear, Hawke eventually parking in the ironic safety of a dark alley. Once the car came to a silent halt Hawke thumped against his seat with a sigh, head rolling against the headrest in order to glance drowsily at the blonde. “What the fuck, man,” he uttered flatly. “It’s too early in the week for me to already have a ridiculous excuse for my boss.”

The stranger stared back at hawke bashfully, the corners of his lips quirking into a faint smirk. Hawke could see now that his eyes were a light amber, faint wrinkles forming around them whenever his features pulled into a smile. “Yeah, uh, sorry about that,” he murmured, clearing his throat. “But if you don’t mind...?” The blonde arched his back slightly to the side, revealing the cuffs binding his wrists as he attempted to form a winning smile. Hawke snorted.

“Do you honestly think I have a set of lock picks just lying around in my car?” he asked, tilting his head as he examined the metal. A grin teased at the mage’s lips, his head shaking as he let out a small sigh. “Sorry, pal, you’re out of luck.”

The man frowned, sucking on his lip as he turned to stare at the dashboard. His eyes were wistful, pondering, tongue lightly grazing his upper lip as his eyes flickered across the surface of the plastic. Hawke tensed.

 _Uh oh_.

It was coming, he could feel it. Any second now. Any second he was going to turn to him and-

“Do you think you could-”

“ _No_ ,” Hawke stated abruptly, folding his arms over his chest as he stared with defiance out through his windshield. Today was the day. Today was the day he would finally quit catering to the people of Kirkwall. “I may associate myself with criminals from time to time,” he began, already noticing the flaws in his logic, but continuing regardless, “but there is _no way_ I am harboring one in my house.”

The blonde’s brow quirked inquisitively, eyes narrowing at Hawke. “I’m not a _criminal_ ,” he corrected, straightening his back in his seat as if he were about to grace Hawke with some sort of profound wisdom. “I am a peaceful protester, an activist. It’s the templars that are committing the _real_ crimes.”

Hawke rolled his eyes. Yes, it was true, he was an apostate, but he couldn't be further from most of the ‘free’ mages roaming around Kirkwall. Activists, social justice warriors, whatever they called themselves, Hawke wanted no part in it. He just wanted to live peacefully. Those who dabbled with mage rights usually ended up dead, or worse, tranquil.

Hawke sighed.

“Yeah, look, I’m totally cool with you ‘fighting for our rights’ and all that, just not at _my house_.” he told him, turning to gesture towards the door. “So if you would be so kind to-”

“Wait, _you’re_ a mage?”

Hawke blinked at the sudden question, eyes shifting to focus on the blonde’s face, his brows arched in disbelief. Hawke cleared his throat. “Yes, I am,” he assured him, sending a small wave of mana to surge through his palm. The spell he casted was simple, a parlor trick, a bright, glimmering blue orb forming in his open hand. “See?”

The stranger slowly nodded, eyes eventually lifting from the sight to meet Hawke’s own, lips parted into a grin. “Name’s Anders,” he said, huffing a strand of loose hair out from his eyes. “And you are?”

Hawke’s eyes narrowed at the sudden introduction, the magic ebbing from his palm. The guy was clearly giddy over the idea of being saved by a fellow mage, something he could most definitely use in his advantage if he felt necessary. Hawke wavered. “Hawke,” he eventually replied, hoping to wedge some distance between them with the brevity of his last name. “Now get out of my car.”

“Wait!” Anders begged, shifting in his seat in order to face Hawke more directly. “Just, just wait a second. Perhaps we could help each other out?”

Hawke arched a brow, tilting his head to the side as he rested his arm against the wheel. What ever the apostate was going to say next, it was going to have to be good.

Seeing that Hawke was willing to hear him out, Anders relaxed, an uneasy smile tugging at his lips. “Okay, so listen, I have these maps. Old maps, valuable maps, maps to some ancient untouched thaigs down in the deep roads. We’re talking big coin here, untold riches just two weeks below the surface. If you help me out, allow me to lay low for a few days, the maps are yours. That’s it. Few days, in and out, boom boom.”

Hawke nodded as he listened to Anders’ proposal, the words ‘coin’ and ‘riches’ particularly intriguing, less so than ‘deep roads’ and ‘help’. “And where are these maps, exactly?” Hawke asked, eyes narrowing skeptically. It wouldn't be the first time he’d taken an empty bargain, that’s for sure.

“Back at my clinic, in Darktown,” Anders replied, eyes flickering with a glimmer of hope. “Right now the place is sure to be crawling with templars, but once this all dies down, they’re as good as yours.” The mage licked his lips, another faint grin teasing at them as he stared up at Hawke, eyes swimming with anticipation. “So, what do you say?”

Hawke smirked under Anders’ gaze, the blonde’s expression mirroring that of what a working girl at the Blooming Rose might wear. Playing on the ol’ heartstrings, huh? Hawke had seen better, but he decided he was going to be particularly charitable today. “Alright, ‘Anders,’” Hawke murmured, his lips parting into a roguish grin as he gripped the wheel. “You got yourself a deal.”


	2. You Be Fire and I'll Be Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke's an asshole and Anders has troubles with bottling his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, look at me updating my guilty pleasure fic while completely neglecting my other one. I'll pull myself out of the this trash pile eventually. In the meanwhile, please enjoy chapter two!

Hawke was conceited. Hawke was an asshole. Hawke was an ignorant, egotistical child living in the flesh of a twenty-five-year-old man. All these things true, yes, though Hawke recognized none of them. _‘Confidence,’_ he’d tell people, lips most likely curled into a condescending, yet still, oddly charming smile. _‘He was confident’_.

He was the sort of man who believed he could accomplish any task without any previous experience. Fleeing a blight? No problem. Smuggling illegal goods? Sure thing. Lockpicking? Fuck yeah. And why not? He was intelligent, resourceful, and most importantly, great with his hands. With the aid of a trusty bent paperclip and some fancy fingerwork, Hawke was sure he could crack the cuffs in no time. Or so he thought.

“Hawke…”

“Shush, I’m concentrating.”

Anders' lips pursed into a frown, eyes lidded and dull with boredom. Still though, he waited.

_Snap._

“Shit.”

Anders sighed, the breath drawn out and dripping with impatience. “Seriously, how much longer?” he asked, head arching back as he shifted his wrists against the metal. “You’ve been fiddling back there for nearly fifteen minutes.”

Hawke responded with another sharp exhale of a curse, his brow furrowing at the sight of the twisted, useless metal in his hands. Yet another soul lost to the cold steel of the lock. “I’m working on it,” he grumbled, tossing the busted paperclip into the pile he had made on the coffee table. This sort of stuff had always looked easier in the movies.

Hawke could practically hear Anders’ eyes rolling back in his head, the blonde’s shoulders slumping as he turned to stare irritably at the wall. “Didn’t you say you had some experience with this stuff?” he muttered.

Hawke scoffed, his lips forming into a faint grin as he fiddled with the new clip in his hands. Past nights spent back at the Blooming Rose flooded his mind, the memories proving more than just distracting to his work. “Yeah,” he coughed, clearing his throat along with his thoughts, “but the cuffs I’m used to are usually fuzzy and pink.” The mage swore again as the metal bent out of shape, brow creasing as he muttered to himself. “This is some heavy duty, templar, anti-magic crap.”

Anders snorted, laughter threatening to tumble out from his lips. It was one of those rumbling laughs that you held in your gut, the kind that sung in the back of your throat. “Yeah,” he murmured, head arching back once more as his lips curled into a coy smile. “I’m afraid we’ve managed to reach a whole new level of kinky.”

Hawke’s brow arched at the mage’s words, his gaze flickering to meet the blonde’s with a piqued curiosity. Kinky, huh? Interesting. After a brief moment Hawke’s features twitched into a smirk, the smile parting as his tongue grazed his upper lip. “You mean _you’ve_ managed,” he corrected, eyes falling back to the mage’s bound hands. “You and your frisky templar buddies.”

Anders’ smile waned under the jest, faint creases forming above his brow. “Yes,” he murmured, head turning forward to face the wall, eyes narrowed and bitter. “You never can expect them to play nice.”

Hawke rolled his eyes. _Great._

Getting the mage riled up about templars and justice was one of the last things he wanted to do. Anders seemed like the sort who could beat a dead horse for hours. Instead of prodding further, Hawke focused on freeing the blonde’s hands, pressing the end of his paperclip into the hole of the lock. Hawke rattled the clip around blindly, hoping that the wire would eventually take hold and click in just the right way. As he worked his eyes began to wander, gaze eventually falling on a strange marking printed on the inside of Anders’ left forearm. A tattoo? Hawke tilted his head in order to get a better look.

The image was that of an ox’s skull, the ink used black and slightly faded. A thorned vine weaved in and out of the creature’s dark sockets before coiling around it’s horns, an occasional blue rose blooming vibrantly against the bone. The color used was captivating, luminous, the detail in the work nothing short of remarkable. The design must have costed the mage a fortune. “Nice ink,” Hawke hummed, bringing a thumb to graze over one of the roses. “Who’s work?”

Anders’ head twitched back at the sudden touch, his eyes meeting Hawke’s before falling upon his own painted flesh. “Oh,” he said, as if he had forgotten he’d even had the thing. “It’s my own.”

Hawke’s brow arched in surprise, lips curling into a lazy grin. “You’re joking.”

Anders shook his head, his lips pulling into a slight smirk. “No, it’s true,” he said, shifting his wrists to get a better look at the ink. “My design, my hand, my work. I dabbled a lot with art back when I was cooped up in the circle, especially when I was younger.”

Hawke’s lips dipped into a doubtful frown, brows arching inquisitively. So he had been a circle mage? That would have explained a lot. “So you did this yourself? With what? A gun or…?”

“Yeah, standard equipment, though the ink did cost me quite a bit of coin,” Anders said, shoulders rolling into a small shrug. “The design only took two days to finish, but it helps when you know a bit of healing magic to speed up the process.”

Hawke nodded, sucking on his lip as he continued to admire the ink. “Impressive,” he murmured, turning back to focus on the lock. “Is that how you make your coin? Tattoo artist?”

“Nah,” Anders answered, stretching his neck before turning to face forward. “Well, I mean, I used to. Briefly, after I escaped. Now I just run a clinic in Darktown, though it’s free of charge. I mostly help refugees still affected from the blight from a few years back.”

Hawke hummed in thought, teeth drawing over his bottom lip as he fumbled with his paperclip. “Why the change in occupation? Based on your skill level I imagined you were making quite a living.”

The blonde was silent for a short while, though his lips eventually tugged into a tired smile, a breathy laugh escaping him as he spoke.“I...changed, I suppose,” he murmured, voice trailing off. He then paused once more, shoulders rolling as he fidgeted with his fingers. “I’m a different man now from who I was back then. Hopefully a better one.”

Hawke squinted at the back of Anders’ head with a slack-jawed expression. He couldn't imagine what would drive a person to do such a thing. “Huh,” he replied flatly, leaning back from the mage with a defeated sigh. Whatever his motivation was, Hawke was sure he didn’t want to get into it.

“Well, I can’t get this blighted thing open, so, new plan.” Hawke rolled off the couch before striding into the kitchen, feeling quite deserving of a nice cold beer after all his hard work. He returned shortly with a can in hand, standing before Anders as he cracked it open and took a large swig. Anders sat patiently on the couch as he downed the beverage, brow arched as he stared at Hawke awaiting to hear this so called ‘new plan.’

Hawke removed the can from his lips with a crisp sigh, a broad grin stretching across his features. “You’re coming with me to the Hanged Man tonight,” he hummed, flashing the blond a quick wink. “Something tells me you haven't had a good drink in ages.”

Anders’ head slumped to the side, his expression weighted with a caustic frown. “I don’t see how I can simply go out for drinks with my bloody hands still cuffed behind my back,” he muttered.

Hawke responded with a click of his tongue, his index finger extending from his beer to point at Anders, head tilting with a winning smile. “Exactly, which is why my good friend will be there to help you out. You see, he’s…” Hawke’s eyes rolled up towards the ceiling, his hand gesturing in small circles as he searched for the right words, “experienced in that field of work.”

Anders arched a brow, eyes lidded with doubt. “Oh? Just like how you said you were ‘experienced?’” he teased, lips curling faintly into a sardonic grin.

Hawke chuckled, bringing his can to his lips as he spoke. “No, not in quite the same way. He’s a professional.”

Anders nodded, his smile ebbing as his eyes trailed away from Hawke in thought.

Hawke took the opportunity to look over the mage, studying his features, observing the way his lips twitched, how his brow furrowed, the way his eyes narrowed and wrinkled. He couldn’t imagine the man being much older than himself, yet there were times he appeared aged, as if the slightest shift of his expression added years to his life. A faint gleam of metal suddenly caught Hawke’s eye, his gaze shifting to focus on the golden ring that dangled from the lobe of Anders’ right ear.

Hawke’s lips slinked into a slight grin at the sight, his eyes scanning over the blonde's body shamelessly as he pondered unexplored places with potential body art. Hawke had a habit of undressing people in his mind, the mage being no exception. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wonder what he hid behind those dirty jeans of his. Hawke’s eyes eventually trailed back towards Anders’ chest, a snort rising from the back of his throat at the sight.

“So really, that’s the best you could come up with?” he jeered, gesturing towards the blue scrawl smeared across the mage’s chest.

Anders’ gaze fixated back on Hawke at the remark, brows knitting. “What do you mean?” he asked, his head bowing to look at his painted chest. The blonde’s eyes softened, lips pursed with worry. “I thought it sounded pretty good…”

Hawke snorted into his beer, catching the droplets that dribbled down his chin with the back of his hand. “You’re joking, right?” he quipped, lips parting into a wolfish grin. “ _Freedom isnt free, fuck the chantry?_ ” Another short bout of laughter rose from the back of Hawke’s throat, his shoulders bouncing as his head shook from side to side. “What does that even mean? It’s _freedom_ , of course it’s bloody free.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Anders bristled, his face twisting into a scowl as he shifted irritably against the couch. “You’ve lived your whole life free, haven't you? Do you even know what it’s like for most of us mages?”

Hawke’s grin withered under the intensity of Anders’ gaze, his teeth drawing over his bottom lip. It was true, Hawke had lived the entirety of his life as a free man, regardless of his apostasy. He was fortunate to have had his father’s guidance, an experienced mage that was able to keep his family well under the templar’s radar. He knew next to nothing of the circle and its practices, just that it was a place he never wanted to end up at. “No, I don’t,” Hawke responded plainly, eyes shifting to focus on his beer. “Nor do I ever plan to find out.”

Anders scoffed, the sound vicious and seething. “Of course, cuz it’s all about you, isn't it?”

Hawke blinked, Anders’ sudden temper catching him off guard. “I never sai-”

“Nevermind the children being ripped from their families,” the blonde continued, muscles tensing as he strained against his cuffs, teeth gritting. “The children taught to view themselves as monsters, abominations. Why should you care? As long as _you’re_ not the one locked away from the world, as long as _your_ life isnt regulated by a system that deprives people of their basic human rights, a system that merely tolerates their existence...”

Hawke found himself taking a step back from Anders, the mage’s voice abrasive, booming, the sound almost ethereal. His eyes began to glow a bright blue, his flesh fracturing into fissures gleaming with the same unnatural hue. “As long as _you_ don’t have to suffer,” he bellowed, rising from the couch before striding towards Hawke, the flames in his eyes mere inches from his own. “Why give a bloody fuck at all!?”

Hawke remained still, silent, the pure animosity reflected in the bright pools of Anders’ gaze rendering him speechless. This man, no, this _creature_ , it possessed something, or more accurately, was possessed by something. Hawke’s heart continued to pound wildly in his chest, the palm of his hand slick with sweat around his drink. What should he do? What _could_ he do? “I…” he began, but the rest of his words seemed to cling to the back of his throat. Hawke was not one well versed in apologies.

Hawke’s voice seemed to reach Anders regardless, the creature’s wrathful expression melting into something slightly more human. Its breathing became deep, heavy, each exhale mending its fractured flesh as the celestial glow ebbed from its sockets. Once the light had vanished Hawke could see Anders clearly,his humanity revealed in the warmth of a set of amber eyes. “No,” he whispered, brows slanted, ashamed, fearful. “I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have done that.”

Hawke’s lips parted as he attempted to speak, but before he could utter a word Anders had turned away, head bowed as he shifted his hands against his cuffs. “I’d rather we just forget this ever happened,” he spoke softly, voice throaty and hoarse. “It would be easier for the both of us.”

Hawke’s tongue drew over his lips, brow furrowing as he stared at the back of Anders’ head. He was right, Hawke honestly didn’t want to know what that was, who he was, though he was sure it was nothing good. His gaze eventually fell towards the blonde’s bound hands, the mage’s eyes falling upon the vicious rings that marred his wrists. Whatever Anders did, it had triggered the warding magic that was casted on the metal, the spell keeping him contained at the price of his scarred flesh. “That must be uncomfortable,” Hawke murmured, brow furrowing at the wound. “Wait here, I’ll get you something for the pain.” Afterall, it was the least Hawke could do.

Anders breathed a soft ‘thanks’ as he took a seat on the couch, Hawke placing his beer on the coffee table before ducking into the bathroom. It only took a few minutes for Hawke to gather what he needed from his medicine cabinet, his healing potions in large supply due to how often he ended up in scraps. When he returned he could see Anders was already faring slightly better, a tortured expression no longer weighing at his features.

“Here,” Hawke said, offering a bottled potion towards Anders’ lips. “Drink this.” Anders obeyed, though he still refused to look Hawke in the eye as tilted his head back and swallowed down the liquid. Once it was empty Hawke set the vial aside, lowering himself to his knees in front of Anders as he brought forth a bowl of water and a washcloth. The mage arched a brow at the sight, head tilting to the side as his lips parted to speak. “Now I know you still might be pissed at me,” Hawke began, taking the cloth and soaking it in the water, “but if I have to stare at that blue fucking paint any longer _I_ just might burst into flames.”

Despite Anders’ best efforts, he snorted, low laughter spilling from his lips as he smirked down at Hawke. “I suppose this is your form of an apology?” he asked, watching as Hawke wrung out the ratty cloth.

A slight grin slinked across Hawke’s features, his eyes flickering to meet Anders’. “Me? Apologize? _Never_.” Hawke then brought the moist cloth to Anders’ chest, a small exhale escaping the mage’s lips.

“It’s warm,” he murmured, eyes fluttering to a close as Hawke dragged the rag across his chest dyed droplets trailing down his body.

Hawke snorted. “Of course it is,” he quipped, gently scrubbing the blonde’s chest with small circles. The paint began to fade into a fainter shade of blue, the color eventually smearing across the entirety of Anders’ chest. The color dipped into creases that accentuated certain features, his abbs slowly becoming more and more defined with each stroke of his hand. Hawke’s brows arched, genuinely surprised by the sight. At first glance the man had seemed almost bony, but now…

Hawke allowed his fingers to slowly inch further from the cloth as he washed, the tips brushing against Anders’ skin. It was soft, warm, firm. Hawke grinned. _Nice._

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?”

Hawke blinked, gaze shifting to fall upon Anders, his eyes hooded with a broad smirk stretched across his features. Hawke chuckled, tongue grazing his lips as he returned the same teasing smirk.

Positively shameless.

“I take pleasure in the simple things,” he murmured, turning to wring out the soiled rag over his bowl. “Nothing screams a good time quite like washing a filthy apostate while reduced to your knees.”

Anders hummed, the sound rumbling in the back of his throat as Hawke brought the cloth back towards his belly. Their eyes met and locked at the motion, neither of them flinching as their smirks broadened. “You know,” Anders cooed, head dipping slightly inward, tongue trailing over his upper lip,

“I believe we’ve finally found something we can both agree on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that's right folks.
> 
> Rivalmance~


End file.
